Have you ever been happy?
Been so happy it was blinding?

Have you ever wanted to die?

I am terrified of being low again
because maybe the next time I hit the ground
it will **** me in and I will never
get to see the light again.

I am terrified of imagining blades on my wrists.
I am terrified of the black sluggishness in my brain.
I am terrified of the stitched smiles upon my face.
I am terrified of hopelessness and shame.

I don’t want to be low ever again.
I don’t want to live through that pain ever again.

I want to live.
I need to want to live.
I need to see life as blindingly white.
But I see the feeling fade away before my eyes,
and I can only reach for it with lanky arms;
my fingers gracing the reflection of something
that was long ago solid but somehow melted,
vaporised, disappeared.
And I will be forever too weak
to do anything about it but learn to miss
a happiness I began to mourn the day it arrived.
I can only watch as my reasons to live go away
in a hope that my mind will not conjure up
a new list, but for the reasons to forever stop this pain.